I'm With the Banned
by NeitherSparky
Summary: After being banned from the junkyard after the events of Eddie Monster, Terrence schemes to get back in. Complete. And short.
1. Chapter 1

I'm With the Banned  
A Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends Fanfic  
by  
C. "Sparky" Read

_Chapter One_

Surprisingly, Terrence really didn't mean to spike the edge of Laney Petridge's skirt to the back of her chair with the point of his compass during Geometry; it had truly been an accident brought on by a mixture of carelessness, distraction, and preoccupation with the events at the junkyard the night previous. Accused of fixing the Extremasaur fights, the thirteen-year old had been informed of his lifetime ban from the junkyard by the Gatekid as he made his hasty, and damp, retreat. It wasn't fair! None of that was his fault! Neither was Laney's semi-flashing of the class when she stood up and her elastic-waisted skirt slipped down to her knees in front of the whole class, exposing her Hot Topic GIR ("I loooove candy!") undies; but he'd been sent for a week's detention just the same.

Terrence flung open the door to Vice Principal Healey's Detention Chamber (otherwise known as the Health classroom), stomped in, flung it shut behind him, and threw himself noisily at his usual desk in the back. There was no doubt as to the owner of said desk, as it was liberally decorated with stylized Sharpie skulls, eyeballs, snakes, and various dead, dying, and often decapitated cartoon animals; not to mention the large "TERRENCE" that had been carved into the back of the chair with a grapefruit spoon the boy had stolen from the drawer at home.

Vice Principal Healey, as usual, didn't grace Terrence's arrival with even a short glance; she went on reading the magazine before her as if nothing had happened at all. Ignoring her right back, Terrence took in the few other occupants of the room.

The single female offender he knew well: Chick (short for" Hey You There Chick") was a perpetually bored, rather stoned-looking stocky eighth-grade girl wearing black-and-white-striped kneehighs, black cutoffs, a ratty black tee over a longsleeved white leotard top, army boots that looked much too big for her, and black lipstick and eyeliner that both rather looked like they were drawn on by Terrence's trusty Sharpie. Chick was weird, even by Terrence's standards; in fact he didn't really consider her a "girl" so much as a walking piece of graffitti. She was currently jabbing the eraser end of a pencil up her right nostril disinterestedly.

To her left was the infamous "Angry Flute Guy" - in fact, Terrence had never even heard anyone give him a name, so, like everyone else, he just referred to him as "That Angry Flute Guy." Angry Flute Guy was tall, skinny, thoroughly punk rock, and was given his moniker because he played the flute in the school band and tolerated no snide comments. He was surly and argumentative 24/7, and reacted to even the barest hinting that playing the flute might not be one-hundred-percent macho with a level of violent rage that would frighten Satan himself. Actually, he seemed to react that way to just about anything at all. Terrence avoided him on principle, and was In The Know that the bandmember was in detention all week for jamming a tuba down over the head of a kid who may or may not have made a very vague comment suggesting that Angry Flute Guy's shoes might have looked rather new.

The final member of the Detention Chamber, however, came as quite a surprise: it was Darryl Fergus, the creator of the electric Extremasaur that Terrence had had such a close encounter with the night previous. Fergus was a short redhead who wore thick glasses and stereotypically nerdy attire and who looked down his nose at everyone and who somehow managed to convince the principal to allow him to play his accordion at every single stinking school function. _Accordion_. Everyone in school hated that stupid accordion; Fergus even kept it in his locker, bringing it to and from school every single day, just in the event that he might find a way to weasel airtime out of the principal. Fergus was the president of the Scandinavian Club and therefore often launched impromptu demonstrations in the quad at peculiar times of day (this could be why the Scandinavian Club didn't have much of a charter).

In any case, it was strange to see Fergus in detention; and the moment Vice Principal Healy left the room to check on what the Science Club was up to next door (it had suddenly emitted a peculiar aroma), Terrence sprang out of his chair to loom over the redhead, scowling.

"Hey Turdguts," he glowered at the short boy, balling up his fists. "What're _you_ in for? Your stupid runty Extremasaur clog up the toilet in the teacher's lounge?" Terrence had lost all former admiration for the champion Extremasaur.

But Fergus sat there serenely, his chin lifted haughtily and his small pudgy hands folded neatly on the desk before him. "Hardly," he drawled. "The Extremasaur in question remains crated at the junkyard until such time as I can return to collect him." Fergus sniffed loudly, then resumed, "Furthermore, I scorn the very illogicality of an electricity-based lifeform ever crawling, of its own accord, into a receptacle of water out of which it would be incapable of escaping under its own power." He looked sharply at Terrence. "Now kindly resume your seat; your trogladytic brainwaves are pitting my glasses."

Terrence was used to this: Fergus always talked like a dictionary and the other boy had learned not to dwell on it, as it brought on more confusing replies. But he refused to let the nerd weasel his way out of answering the original question. "So why _are_ you in here?" he snapped, leaning on the desk, eyes narrowed.

Fergus sat stiffly, eyes half-shut, gazing off into space; but an obvious look of irritation had crossed his features. "I was framed, of course," was the eventual reply.

Terrence raised an eyebrow. "Framed, huh?" he commented, heavy on the sarcasm.

"I was!" Fergus blurted suddenly, eyes flying open, scowling at his classmate. "And the worst of it - _the worst_­ - is that that _hooligan_ involved my precious Ilsa!"

Ilsa Adelsbjorn was the name of Fergus' beloved accordion.

Terrence raised the other eyebrow, intrigued. "Someone busted up your stupid accordion? Sweet."

Fergus glared. "It most certainly is not...'sweet,'" he countered sourly. "She'll never be the same."

"So? What happened to her - uhm, to it?"

Fergus fell into a petulant silence; then he pivoted slowly in his chair to cast an evil eye in Chick's direction. "That monochrome terror over there did it," he said.

"Did _what?_"

"Stuffed my poor helpless Ilsa under the hood of Vice Principal Healey's car."

At that revelation Angry Flute Guy made a stifled snorting sound; Terrence laughed out loud; and Hey You There Chick placed her pencil between her lip and her nose and tried to see how long she could hold it there.

"Well," said Terrence, recovering, "then how come Chick's in here too then, if she framed you and got away with it?"

Fergus shrugged. "I thought Chick was always in here," he said.

Terrence considered that. "Oh yeah."

Vice Principal Healey's footsteps echoed in the hallway and Terrence vaulted back into his seat in an impressive show of gymnastics before she appeared in the door.

He never did find out why Chick was in detention that week; he half-suspected that she hadn't done anything at all and simply had nothing better to do.

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

The next day in detention Terrence sat next to Fergus instead of his usual chair; and as soon as Mrs. Healey left the room he blurted:

"So your mom lets you keep that Extremasaur in the laundry room, or something?"

Fergus rolled his eyes. "Ordinarily, in the shed out back," he huffed. "But I am keeping the Ampichu at the junkyard for the time being."

"How come?"

Silence.

Suspicious, Terrence leaned closer. "You're leaving him at the junkyard to be messed with?" he pressed. "Doesn't seem safe."

Fergus' lips turned white, they were pressed so hard together. "If you _must_ know," he said in a low voice after a pause, "I...I was banned from the junkyard."

"What? No way! Why?"

The short kid frowned at Terrence. "Because of you and your accomplices," he retorted. "That juvenile and those imaginary friends."

"Huh? What'd _they_ do?" When Fergus continued to eye him, Terrence shrugged widely. "Hey, I went home, they're _not_ my friends, and I dunno what they did after I left! My brother _did_ get home real late...got in trouble...but he wouldn't say where he'd been."

"Oh, he was at the junkyard," glowered Fergus bitterly. "He and those imaginary idiots ran around breaking up all the fights and telling all the Extremasaurs to 'be free'! What an absurd idea! A free Extremasaur! Well my Ampichu was the only Extremasaur that _didn't_ run away, so they figured I'd had something to do with it, trying to get myself a win by forfeit, so I got banned."

Terrence leaned back. "Well that's like what happened to me!" he exclaimed; but Fergus silenced him with a sharp look.

"It most certainly is not," he snapped. "Don't you ever compare yourself to _me_. We are vastly different."

Terrence shrugged. "Whatever." He picked at the edge of the desk he was sitting at. "Wish I could get back in there though," he mused wistfully. "Those were some seriously wicked fights. And...with the smashing...and the fires...and the explosions..." He sat up straight, fists clenched. "Ooooh... I _gotta_ gets me back in there! There _has_ to be a way!"

Fergus huffed. "Good luck with that," he snorted. "I wish to gain re-entry as well, but it cannot be done. Once you receive a lifetime ban, you're out for good."

"We could sneak in!"

"Brilliant." The redhead gazed evenly at the other. "How?"

Terrence concentrated, gritting his teeth and rolling his eyes with the effort. "Well...uh...We could...hop the fence!"

"Barbed wire."

"Oh...right...I remember now...Well...how about...tunnelling?"

"Concrete slabs."

Terrence blinked. "Woah, really? I was wondering why the ground was so hard. Hm...Well then how about - "

"How about you give your poor undernourished brain a rest?" snapped Fergus, disgusted. "Really, it's a wonder you can dress yourself - even though it looks like you copied the wardrobe of a kid in a comic strip." While Terrence glanced down at his clothes in confusion Fergus frowned, tapping his temple. "But perhaps your enthusiasm is not so amiss. In fact..." He turned to eye Chick and Angry Flute Guy. "Haven't _both_ of you also been banned from the junkyard?"

Chick of course said nothing but Angry Flute Guy turned red at the accusation and stood up, pointing a trembling finger at Fergus. "YOU LITTLE GEEK!" he shouted (in fact he was known for never speaking at a normal volume). "WHAT ARE YOU SAYING?"

"Yeah they were both banned," Terrence spoke up after giving up trying to figure out what was wrong with his outfit. "Chick was caught superglueing Extremasaurs to the floors of their crates and Angry Flute Guy punched the leader of the junkyard band in the face like, twelve times. The band hasn't come back to play since."

At that Fergus got a shrewd look in his eye. "Is that so?" he said slowly. "Well then, I am starting to formulate a plan. Now, as I see it, the junkyard must be looking for a new source of entertainment. The four of us could form a band and - "

"Hey Flute Guy," blurted Terrence suddenly, ignoring Fergus. "Whatever happened to the junkyard band? I haven't seen them around."

"WHADDYA MEAN BY THAT?" yelled Flute Guy, glowering.

"Listen - " tried Fergus again. "I say we four form a band and audition - "

"Hey Chick!" Terrence went on. "You seen 'em?"

Chick leaned back and tried repeatedly to blow her short hair out of her face without using her hands.

"Would you listen to me?" snarled Fergus. "We could pose as a band, piece together an audition, get into the junkyard and - "

"So the band's gone then?" asked Terrence of no one in particular. "That sucks. They were really loud. So like, the junkyard needs a new band. I bet they're desperate."

"I am _saying_, why don't _we_ play in a band - "

"Yup," Terrence went on, "I bet they'd take just about _anybody_ who could play an instrument. Hey!" he blurted before Fergus could speak again. "_We_ could pretend to be a band! Then they'll let us in!"

Fergus grit his teeth. "That's was _my_ plan, you moron!" he growled.

Terrence looked affronted. "No it wasn't!" he pouted. "It was mine! Didn't you guys hear me?" He turned to the others. "Hey, who's plan was it, mine or Turdguts'?"

Chick pointed wordlessly at Terrence while staring openmouthed at the ceiling; and Angry Flute Guy shook with rage. "HEY DON'T STEAL OTHER PEOPLE'S IDEAS!" he bellowed at Fergus. Terrence looked smug.

"_All right fine, it was your idea, now let's get on with it_," hissed Fergus, trying to maintain his composure. "Now, what instrument do you play?" he asked Terrence.

"Electric guitar," replied Terrence proudly. "Uh...Mom wanted me to take lessons, but um...I haven't actually taken any yet or anything but - "

"That's fine," Fergus cut him off smoothly. "I shall bring my poor mended Ilsa of course, and we all know what Angry Flute Guy plays...but what about Hey You There Chick? Does she play anything?"

Terrence walked over to Chick. "Hey, Chick, Chick," he said, snapping his fingers in the girl's face trying to make her look at him. "We need you to pick an instrument. Hey. Psst. Hey Chick, come on. What're you good at?"

Suddenly, without taking her gaze from the ceiling, Chick seized a heavy textbook from the next desk and slammed Terrence in the head with it, sending him sprawling.

"She's good at hitting things," said Fergus, a hint of smugness in his voice. "Drums it is."


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Well...thanks to my two reviewers. Lol. I know, I know...you write a story about Terrence, you get two reviews; you write about Wilt, you get ten billion per chapter. Lol! It's okay, I have a sense of humor about it. Well I have more stories like this planned, whether y'all like it or not! So nyah! -Sparky_

_Chapter Two_

"We will play_ one_ song," Fergus was saying as they approached the junkyard gate. "Then we will go our separate ways. I do not care what you peons do as long as I reclaim my Ampichu."

"Yeah whatever." Terrence was having a little trouble juggling his guitar case as well as his amp and the cymbals from Chick's drum set (who knew she actually _had_ one?). Behind him Angry Flute Guy was having similar problems with his flutecase and the set's snares. Tailing the group was Chick, toting her drumsticks and the cumbersome bass drum. Up in front Fergus was having an easy time of it, as he had refused to carry anything but Ilsa Adelsbjorn (the accordion still bore scars from its bout with the Vice Principal's engine). To boot, he was in full Polka regalia.

"Hey, what're we gonna play, anyways?" Terrence asked brightly.

"Something loud," retorted Fergus. "The louder the better, if I know those cavemen."

"Awesome!" yelled Terrence. "Let's play some NOFX! No - Voodoo Glow Skulls! Hey Chick, can you chant?"

"Chick can't even say her own name," snapped Fergus as they reached the closed gate. "Now shut up and let me do the talking." He knocked.

The small window slid open, revealing Gatekid's narrowed eyes. "Hey, I know you guys," he drawled. "You were all banned. Beat it."

Terrence jumped in front of Fergus before the other could stop him, dropping the cymbals loudly. "But you gotta let us in!" he blurted. "We're the band!"

Gatekid started to retort something but stopped short. "'The Banned,' huh? Hey, that's kinda clever. You get points for that. Okay, fine, you can come in, but you'd better be good." The window slid shut and the door opened.

As Terrence picked up the cymbals Fergus shoved past him, sending the cymbals flying again. "I said to let _me_ do the talking," the short boy shot over his shoulder. Terrence, scowling, managed to gather the cymbals up and hurry in after the others.

"Who're you guys supposed to be, the Polish Dropkick Murphys?" Gatekid sneered, jerking his chin towards Fergus and Ilsa as he led the "band" deeper into the junkyard.

Fergus opened his mouth but Terrence stepped in front of him. "No, the Murphys are older than us, duh," he said. "Plus they're from like, Germany or something."

Fergus opened his mouth to insult Terrence when something stopped him: it was the sight of a large wooden crate near the Extremasaur fighting arena. His scowl turned to a smug grin as Gatekid led the group to a structure made from pieces of chainlink fences.

"All right!" enthused Terrence. "The Cage!" He managed to free a finger to wipe away an emotional tear. "We're finally playing the Cage...after all we've been through together..."

"You idiot we've never even played once - " Fergus stopped short when he spied the Gatekid looking at him. "Oh, uh, I mean...Yes. The Cage. We'll just set up now."

As Terrence and Angry Flute Guy assembled the drums (Chick was too busy inspecting a speck of rust on the fence) Fergus went over the game plan:

"_One_ song," he said again. "Then while everyone else is distracted throwing garbage or whatever it is that these morons do I will give my Ampichu the signal to get inside Ilsa and we will make our escape." He demonstrated how the end of the accordion opened, revealing enough room to hold the small Extremasaur.

"What song?" asked Terrence.

"I don't know," Fergus shot back tiredly. "As if you can even call the noise these animals enjoy songs..." He fingered Ilsa's keys. I'll just start and you can back me up."

At that Terrence scowled. "Hey!" he blurted. "No way am I playing back up to you and your stupid accordion! I wanna be lead!"

"Chick," said Fergus, and Chick obediently swung around and whalloped Terrence in the head with her drumsticks.

A crowd was beginning to gather outside the Cage. "What the heck is Fergus doing here?" one kid wailed in protest. He pointed a shaking finger at Ilsa. "Oh no," he wavered. "It's...it's..."

"Ilsa," whispered another kid, and the boys bunched together in fear.

"Hey!" yelled a big kid in the back. "We don't wanna listen to Fergus play his stupid accordion! And weren't those other losers banned?"

"Get off the stage!" yelled a skinny girl with a partially-shaved head. "Boo!"

As random objects started to smash against the cage, Fergus nodded to the others. "It's now or never," he said. "Remember: just make it loud."

Terrence brightened. "Awesome," he said.

The other kids actually quieted down as it became apparent that the band was going to play; Angry Flute Guy stepped up to the mic.

"HEY YOU FREAKS!" he shouted amid plenty of feedback. "THIS IS OUR SONG! SO...LISTEN TO IT!"

Fergus rolled his eyes, and promptly started to play a polka.

The crowd listened to that for about three seconds; and then a plethora of junk started smashing against the cage as they all booed loudly.

"Play, you idiots!" Fergus snapped over his shoulder.

Terrence pouted and put his hands on his hips. "Not if you're going to insult us," he replied. Chick drove the tip of a drumstick into her ear and Flute Guy just stood there blinking.

"_Play something now!_" screamed Fergus as bits of motor oil from a busted engine spattered all over the stage.

"Oh, all right all right, keep your _klompen_ on..." Terrence adjusted his guitar strap and stepped forward, slamming out a test riff. Everything vibrated. Satisfied, he started playing. Chick, thus motivated, started hitting things (usually the drums), and Angry Flute Guy started shouting out random lyrics into the microphone.

Now from that description, you probably think that they sounded horrible. Well, that depends on your point of view. As it turned out, Gatekid's Dropkick Murphys call wasn't really all that far off: replace the bagpipes with an accordion, and perhaps shave a bit of rhythm off of the guitar and drums; and lastly replace Al Barr's fairly coherent yelling with a fourteen-year-old boy's unintelligible screaming, and you get the general idea. Not Mozart, sure, but not bad for a first effort. At least, as far as Punk Polka goes.

Slowly, the audience stopped booing and starting cheering. Kids jumped onto the outside of the Cage and clung there, beating on it with their fists in a show of exuberant appreciation for fine music. When Angry Flute Guy produced his flute and started playing the bridge, everyone just went wild.

The Banned was a huge hit.

Terrence was ecstatic at the reception; Angry Flute Guy was just wired on it. Chick could have been alone in a giant snowglobe from the completely detached way she ignored her surroundings.

Fergus for his part didn't care one way or the other if the junkyard kids liked them or not. He hadn't come, after all, to entertain. Neither was he there strictly to retrieve the Ampichu. He had bigger fish to fry. All those stupid, brain-dead teenaged wastoids...how dare they seize his prized Extremasaur and throw him out of the junkyard! Well, thanks to his own brilliance, he was back...and he had a plan.

As the song came to a somewhat clumsy finale and the crowd burst into a round of apechants, Terrence whalloped Fergus jovially on the back. "Nice work with the old Yankovic, man!" he crowed. "We're gonna be famous!"

"That's what _you_ think, you spectacular gaffe of Nature," Fergus snapped back, shoving roughly past Terrence to stand beside Flute Guy, motioning for the microphone to be lowered to his level. Flute Guy paused, contemplating a rebuttal; but even he was overwhelmed by the euphoria of their reception and finally just did as the redhead requested.

"Enjoying the show?" Fergus said into the mic, cocking an eyebrow.

The crowd concurred loudly.

"Do you want _more?_" Fergus went on slyly.

The reply was unanimously positive.

Fergus's eyes went cold behind his thick glasses. "_You fools!_" he barked in an angry yet superior tone, glaring out over the crowd. "You _dared_ to ban me - _me_, Darryl Fergus, creator of the greatest Extremasaur this world has ever _known?_ Did you think you would not _pay_ for such treatment? _Did you?_"

The crowd, now deathly quiet, gaped back at him. Silence reigned for a few moments; there was a cough or two. Finally, someone in the back yelled, "Play some Skynard!"

"Oh shut up already!" Fergus snarled back. He held his accordion up over his head. "What you morons did _not_ know," he went on, "is that I trained the Ampichu with this very instrument! I taught him exactly two hundred and thirty-seven different commands, all in response to a different series of notes played on my talented Ilsa! And now I shall play the sequence that will send him into a _blind rampage!_ Farewell, you sniveling idiots!"

Terrence leaned close to Chick, who was cleaning under her fingernails with a rusty cog she had picked up. "Does this mean we're going to do an encore?" he whispered to her.

Fergus lowered Ilsa as the crowd gaped at him; he expanded the accordion and played a short series of notes. But his expression quickly went from vengeful to horrified.

"No," he murmured. "That's not right..."

The huge crate by the Extremasaur arena suddenly began to shake and jump violently, accompanied by loud crackling and the crisp smell of charred wood. The junkyard kids, looking at once frightened, scattered, yelling, in all directions.

"Hey, what's that?" Terrence asked cluelessly of no one in particular. Fergus stood on the stage, clutching Ilsa, mouth agape.

"Ilsa!" the short kid whispered hoarsely to the accordion. "You've betrayed me! No - No, it wasn't you..."

The crate suddenly fell apart, revealing a small yellow and brown chinchilla-like animal with bristling fur. It twitched its adorable nose twice, then suddenly bared its sharp little teeth and started bounding straight for the Cage.

"...It was them! Yes, it was _they_ who are to blame!" Fergus was babbling now, caressing Ilsa nervously. "That horrible female threw you in that car and you were damaged..."

The Ampichu was gaining ground fast. Hey You There Chick got up boredly and wandered out of the Cage's door.

"And that bigmouthed troll is the one who chased off the old band in the first place..."

Angry Flute Guy went as white as milk and scrambled over the Cage wall.

"But it was that single-brain-celled hominid who led us here! It's _his_ fault!" Fergus whirled on Terrence, who was standing, petrified, just behind him. The taller boy had had a sudden memory jolt when the Extremasaur got loose, and recalled that "Ampichu" equals "ow." In a sudden, rare burst of intellect, he got the heck out of there.

Fergus turned back around just in time to see the Ampichu melt a hole through the Cage and land on his face, both it and he squealing. Streamers of electricity whipped all around the Cage, creating a stunning effect when the bolts hit some multicolored bottles stacked against the metal fencing. Multicolored light, and shards of glass, went everywhere. And amid all this, a new sound could be heard, emanating from the very heart of the chaos.

"Hey!" exclaimed one of the junkyard kids, stopping in his tracks and looking back. "What...what's _that?_"

"It's...awesome," whispered another boy. Everyone stopped fleeing and stared at the Cage.

"Oh my gosh," sighed the girl with the shaved head, clasping her hands beside her face. "It's so..._pretty!_"

"HEY!" shouted Flute Guy in awe, pointing. "LOOK! IT'S FERGUS!"

The sound was indeed coming from Fergus. And from Ilsa. And in fact, from the Ampichu as well. More precisely, it was coming from a combination of the accordion, boy, and Extremasaur: the Ampichu's energy was channeling through Fergus - who made an excellent conductor - and into Ilsa, who had never sounded better.

"That's so freaking cool!" screamed Terrence; and everyone flocked back to the Cage. "Dude!" Terrence went on, entering the Cage and stepping up to Fergus. "That kicks! I didn't know your stupid accordion could do _that!_"

Fergus stood stock still, his muscles refusing to do his bidding, the Ampichu bristling on the top of his head. He rolled his eyes in Terrence's direction and grunted through gritted teeth: "Help...me..."

"You heard the man!" Terrence called over to Flute Guy and Chick, who obediently resumed their places onstage. The crowd gathered close, cheering anew.

After belting out a verse he had made up on the spot, Flute Guy leaned in towards Terrence. "HEY!" he shouted conversationally, "I FEEL SORRY FOR FERGUS. YOU KNOW, I DON'T THINK ANYONE REALLY LIKES HIM!"

Terrence shook his head at him. "I dunno," he said doubtfully. "Anything becomes a billion times cooler once you add electricity to it. Wish I'd thought of it."

_The Incredibly Awesome Terrence is copyright Craig McCracken or somebody. Technically Darryl Fergus, the Ampichu (though obviously both their names are mine) and a few of the Junkyard Kids are his, too. Hey You There Chick, Angry Flute Guy, Vice Principal Healey, and Ilsa Adelsbjorn are all copyright (c) me. I stabbity people who steal them._


End file.
